


christmas night and basement five

by orphan_account



Category: The Vamps (UK Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music Store, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, Holidays, M/M, tradley - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 14:03:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5459078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which tristan and brad spend christmas in a music store</p>
            </blockquote>





	christmas night and basement five

**Author's Note:**

> written by [itsbunny](https://www.wattpad.com/user/itsbunny) on wattpad!

 

The night was as dull as every late shift Tristan found himself stood behind the record store's counter, engulfed with boredom and loneliness. The shifts at the record shop were only to himself, and it wasn't like anyone bothered taking a second glance at the shabby shop. Tristan didn't blame them. Sometimes he wondered how he even happened to land himself here. Maybe it was just the paycheck, which wasn't really much of a paycheck at all, or the fact that he had free hours to stand, or sit, and do absolutely nothing. The idea seemed lovely. It was pretty much all the twenty-one-year-old did, anyway, whether he was at work or not. But sometimes laziness can get a little overwhelming. Tristan always waited for something to happen, something to pull him from his solitary life in the music store.

And then one day—as if all his silent wishes were heard—the little bell rung overhead. The unexpected sound shocked him; the small boy who entered surprised him even more. _A human being_. A real, breathing, alive human being. The customer was all alone, hands pushed into the pockets of black jeans. Tristan thought he was rather attractive with the mass of chocolate curls on his head, the colour nearly matching the adorable brownness of his eyes. They were warm and big. Just by looking at the tan-skinned boy, you'd feel a sense of security. He's the kind of person with a sense that just makes you feel like you're his best friend. And he made sure that Tristan was his before he'd left that night, a stack of records Tristan had never laid eyes on before in hand. By the time he'd left, Tristan knew that his name was Brad, that he didn't live too far from the record store, and that he had absolutely the whitest and perfectest teeth ever, and it was hard not to get a little lost once your eyes landed on his mesmerising smile.

Just like that, it was like Brad had a personal mission to make Tristan's nights at the music store a little more colourful. He'd always dropped in at the most random of times—Tristan learned that he isn't very fond of routines—a stack of money in a hand (that always ended up as an even number) and a random conversation starter. Sometimes Tristan would never really understand what he spoke of, but whatever he said seemed to _always_ make sense.

Tristan couldn't help but hope he'd see him Christmas night. The reasons for him standing in the music store on holiday break was a mystery to him; although, it really wasn't. Sometimes Tristan did things on impulse, like how he went home to his empty flat, the Christmas spirit he'd never had soaked from him before deciding to head to the record shop. He wondered why he didn't have a Christmas tree before remembering he was too lazy to get one, and it'd probably be a lifesaver, really. Tristan felt pathetic enough. Going home to a Christmas tree empty of presents would only remind him of his pathetic-ness, and right now—especially on this day—Tristan _did not_ need that little reminder.

Nonetheless, it came as he sat in the music store. The speakers overheard softly flowed of Michael Bublé. Tristan sat with his back against the counter, long legs folded Indian style as he munched on a bowl of Christmas biscuits—the only good thing about this stupid holiday. What is Christmas for, anyway? To make people who don't have anyone to care for them realise that they don't have anyone to care for them? It isn't the whole concept that doesn't like. It isn't that he's bitter towards other's happiness whenever the holidays roll around. There was only one reason for Tristan's bitterness on "the most wonderful time of the year," and it was unsurprisingly himself. Maybe he should've answered his dad's invite to Christmas dinner and took a bus back to Exeter; maybe he wouldv'e been way happier there. But it was too late for that now, of course. And besides, Tristan felt better sat on the floor of a record shop, safe from the awkwardness of family gatherings.

Tristan found his heart involuntarily quickening at the little knock on the door, the pulse in his throat dropping with excitement. He could barely believe Brad was actually standing outside of the transparent entrance, two coats on his small frame to keep him warm and a knitted hat pulled over his mass of curls. His hands were hidden in the blackness of knitted mittens, balled into fist as he gently knocked on the door again. It was only then Tristan realised he had to unlock the door to let him in, and after this realisation hit him, the twenty-one-year-old wasted no time scrambling to assist him.

"Holidays aren't meant to be spent in record shops," Brad told him with a smile. His smile was lovely, and when Tristan looked at it, he wondered if the feeling that twisted his innards were the feeling majority of the world were graced with at the occurrence of the holidays.

Tristan could only smile back as he shut the door behind him, allowing the small boy to join him in the small store. "I was quite confident that you wouldn't bother coming here," he admitted, sheepishly tangling long fingers in the short, blond mess sat on the top of his head.

"I couldn't think of anywhere else to find you," the curly-haired boy replied. He let out a breathy laugh. His tongue peeked out from his pink lips, nervously licking over his mouth. "I was hoping you wouldn't be here."

"Funny that you'd search places you wouldn't want me to be," Tristan said. He leaned an elbow against the counter, suddenly too weak to hold up his own weight. "You should be with your family, anyway. Not looking for me."

"That's where you're wrong, Tris, because I've come to the conclusion that Santa dropped a present off to the wrong address." A small mitten pulled from behind Brad, a rather large box in his palm. "I couldn't help but feel it were my duty to return it to who it was intended for."

A small laugh escaped from his mouth. "Really?"

"Yes, really." He held the box with both mittens. "Y'planning on taking your present?"

"Yeah, sure, since you went through so much trouble delivering it for Santa and all," he teased with a little laugh. Brad just winked as Tristan directed his eyes to the red box, freeing it from the lid and slipping it underneath. "Aw, Brad."

The smile on the younger's face widened watching Tristan pull the plush bear from the box. It was brown with a little, white jumper on its body and elf ears on its head. 

"Now your flat won't feel so lonely anymore," Brad explained.

"You didn't have to get me this. God, I didn't even think to get you anything," Tristan muttered. He ran another hand through his hair, wondering why the thought never crossed his mind. Brad was all he ever thought about, and he'd never thought to buy him something.

"Sh, I'm only delivering the present; I didn't get it for you. Santa had the wrong address, remember?"

Tristan beamed down at him. "You're amazing, y'know?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty aware." Pushing back the fluffy hat from his head, Brad set it on the counter. "You know what you can do for me?"

"What?"

He placed his phone on the counter beside it and scrolled through the device, a little smile on his face. "You can have fun with me."

"Have fun with you how?"

Brad didn't reply and instead let the sound of rock music fill the store that just sounded awkward overlaying Bublé's soft Christmas song. But it didn't matter. Tristan could barely hear it.

"Ever heard of Basement 5?" Brad inquired.

Tristan shook his head. 

"Well"—the small boy climbed on top of the counter, mischievously looking down at the tall boy, hands on his hips—"you just did."

And Tristan wasn't sure how he did it. He wasn't sure how Brad encouraged him to dance along to a terrible 80's rock, Christmas song, the only three words Tristan being able to make out from the vocalist's voice _last white Christmas_. Somehow the way he was was a little infectious. It was almost kind of scary. Tristan usually never danced. Anything that involved him being creative and not making a fool out of himself was intimidating. But doing anything around Brad brought him comfort. It seemed right. Everything seemed right around Brad and nothing seemed wrong and maybe that was why Tristan had taken a liking to him so much.

Maybe that was why Tristan could only smile as he jumped back down from the counter and pulled Tristan by his jumper, tugging the older to a lower height.

"Pretend that... pretend that we're under a mistletoe," Brad had told him, and it was as if Tristan's body automatically reacted, gripping him by the waist and pulling him in as tight as he could, their lips together with no hesitation. Kissing him was like having one too many cups of eggnog, and when Tristan pulled away, a sloppy smile tugged on his lips, there was no question Brad's lips had got him drunk.


End file.
